


Battles Won and Friendships Lost: Global Conflicts and Quidditch [Whisp, K.]

by sexonastick



Series: Anthology [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Crossover, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexonastick/pseuds/sexonastick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part three following <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/496061">Unresolved Tensions and Peace Treaties Time Forgot</a> and <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/507525">Advanced Charms</a>. Because sport is a metaphor for war and love is a battlefield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battles Won and Friendships Lost: Global Conflicts and Quidditch [Whisp, K.]

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Harry Potter crossover in which most of the HP characters are Professors. Sorry?

As it turns out, it isn't very easy to study with a Hufflepuff in your lap.

Likewise, a Gryffindor squirming and making noises underneath you can be a bit of a distraction, so Cara shifts to her own seat for now. It's a fairly generous gesture, if she does say so herself.

Of course, Amnell is notably somewhat under-appreciative, if her expression is anything to go by.

Denna, on the other hand, is apparently ecstatic. "Well, Cara," she coos in a voice as smooth and slippery as the serpent of her house. "How _long_ have you and Leo been..." She waves her hand around in vague innuendo. "… friends?"

Cara's smile is all teeth. She can feel Leo's shoulders bunch and shiver near where she's massaging at the base of his neck, but he doesn't pull away. Clever boy.

In fact, the only one drawing back from the table in the slightest would be Kahlan, though that might be because Denna is now halfway into her lap.

She's elbowed Amnell aside and leaned in past Leo, as if hoping she might be able to draw the answers from Cara through nothing more than proximity. To her credit, if such magic existed at all, Denna would have mastered it by the end of second year through enthusiasm alone. " _Well_?"

"Oh, we've just met."

The bug-eyed look of panic Leo gives her lands somewhere between outrage and wounded pride. Cara wonders idly which instinct would win if she were to allow things to play out. He must be wondering if she even remembers all those days he followed her around, asking after her thoughts on the weather and seeking advice about brooms.

But something about the boy -- or maybe something about the way he kissed -- makes Cara take pity enough to ratchet her smile up a few sizes more. "I'm only joking." She squeezes the back of Leo's neck and shakes him a little, waving side-to-side. "Leo and I are old friends. For-- what is it, _three_ years now?" She squeezes a little harder, daring Leo to say otherwise.

"Yes." His eyes are still a mess of emotions, but apparently he gets the general idea. "Three years."

"You see, I was only making a joke about the idea that I could barely speak to someone for _years_ and then one day, out of the blue, we snog." Cara laughs long and hard at that one, even slapping the table like she's seen Chase do a million times before. This is apparently what the other houses mean when they refer to jovial Hufflepuffs. And as expected, everyone else sitting at the table jumps slightly from the sheer force of it. Good.

"Isn't it just a laugh, though? I mean, what sort of _whore_ would--"

And suddenly, Kahlan's out of her chair, shot up like a loaded spring. She stands there, hands gripping the back of her seat tightly, and it occurs to Cara that, for just one moment, the Head Girl has allowed her mask to slip slightly. Her smile is tense, uncertain, and her breathing is uneven.

But then, just as quickly as it left, the rightness of Kahlan's smile has returned and her shoulders even look a bit straighter. As simple and quick as slipping on an invisibility cloak, the real Kahlan Amnell is gone again. "I've just thought of a book we need," she says with remarkable ease. "Cara, would you care to help me look?"

"... not particularly, no."

This time the twitch of unwanted emotion is much more subtle, but it's there all the same, right at the corner of Kahlan's mouth.

And it's really just as satisfying as if Kahlan had started screaming.

" _Cara_ ," she says through thin lips, her teeth practically grinding; "Why don't _you and I_ have a look at the Charms section?"

The only thing more amusing than the look of barely maintained calm on Kahlan's face when she asks is the way it almost falls away again when Cara takes hold of Leo's face in both hands. "Is that alright with you, Leo?" She thinks of adding a _darling_ to the end, but imagines that might be laying it on a bit thick.

Cara is already going to have a lot of things to make up for with Dahlia after this. No need to add to it, especially if it's only going to make Leo go nearly non-verbal. "I--" He blinks at her and stammers, more bemused by the moment. "I… What?"

"I think that's a yes," Kahlan says quickly.

"You would." But Cara smiles, twisting the longest strands of Leo's hair around her fingers in a playful sort of tug before slipping from the chair. "Come on then, Amnell."

*

Kahlan leads her far enough to the back of the library that the others ought to be out of hearing range, but still close enough to spot any of them should they leave their seats. It's clever, Cara has to give her that much.

"Cara..."

Smile already firmly in place, Cara spins back on her heel. " _Kahlan_."

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, I thought--" Cara blinks owlishly with exaggerated concern. "We're looking for a charms book, aren't we?"

"Cara--"

"Or did you have something else in mind?"

While the look on Cara's face is shifting slowly into scandalized, Kahlan's own expression is already slightly more homicidal. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'd be more concerned with what _you_ intend, Amnell." Cara nods in indication of the others still waiting at the table. "I think Richard will be able to hear you from here if you moan as much as the last time."

"I didn't _moan_ \--"

"Oh, so you do remember it. I'd wondered." Cara smirks so big that it almost aches, but it doesn't waver. "Good to know I haven't lost the touch."

Kahlan sighs and clutches at the shelving behind her. "What will it take for you to leave me alone?"

"...I don't know what you mean." Cara wonders briefly what Kahlan is worried her hands might do without her consent, but refrains from comment. Incredibly generous of her, really.

"You've been hounding me for days!"

Cara scoffs at that. "You're the one who offered your owl! I didn't want the damn thing."

The only response from Kahlan is a steady and impressive glare. She does indignant fury quite well.

In fact, with the way she's holding onto that shelf, Kahlan seems likely to drag it down on top of them any minute now. Won't Pince be pleased with that? Snogging and vandalism in her library, all in one day.

Although the snogging seems set to be a one time affair for the day, judging by the way Kahlan actually _winces_ when Cara reaches past her to snatch a book from the shelf. 

Lovely.

"What are you..."

"Who I kiss is none of your concern, Amnell." Cara knows that she shouldn't linger this close -- close enough that their mouths could almost touch with just a slight sway of her hips -- but Kahlan's obvious discomfort is far more enjoyable than Cara would care to admit. See how _she_ likes being the one left unsettled. "And they expect us to come back with a book." In case it were unclear, she waves the book in question in front of Kahlan's face.

Not that Kahlan is paying much attention. Her eyes are looking past Cara, back at the table. Back at Richard. Whatever qualities it takes to become Head Girl, apparently _manners_ were never on the list.

It's only out of a certain obligation to clarity that Cara takes hold of Kahlan's chin and directs her gaze back to Cara's own. Nothing more. "My life is _none_ of your concern. Do you understand me?"

It really is a gorgeous glare -- the way Kahlan's mouth thins out and the sharp downward slant of her jaw. When she nods, Cara feels it grazing against her thumb, pulsing lightly with the beating of Kahlan's heart.

"Good." Cara draws back quickly, book in hand, but keeps from making eye contact. The others are probably starting to wonder what's keeping them and she's certain that Leo's lap is likely growing cold.

Better solve that right away.

*

Dahlia's kisses are bruising tonight, and so is the way that she grinds Cara relentlessly against the brick of the fireplace. Their mouths shift and surge like the flames at their back, and the crackle of a splitting log isn't all too unlike the sharp hiss that Dahlia makes when Cara spins her around to swap places.

This is how she makes up for her afternoon with Leo.

Their boots are both caked in mud and there's a slick trail from the door that marks their progress across the Hufflepuff common room. Probably they've tracked it all the way from the pitch at practice, and if either were to sneak across the hall for a late night snack in the kitchens, they're likely to find Filch waiting. Best to satisfy any hunger brought on by practice this way instead.

But it's easier said than done. Soaked through with rain water, even practice robes are a nuisance. The cords tighten and constrict and the fabric clings to every curve and muscle. Eventually Dahlia appears to relent, giving up on pulling Cara loose and settling for slipping inside instead.

With one forceful shove, they both sprawl against the sofa. The muddy twisted tail of Cara's cape fans out against pale yellow cushions before it's pinned under Dahlia's elbow. This is going to be messy, sure to leave a stain. Good thing, she supposes, that Dahlia knows all those cleaning charms that Cara herself never bothered to learn.

What can she say? She prefers to leave her mark.

*

Cara loses one shoe just inside the door and tosses another beneath her bed. The outer robe is dropped and next comes the sweater. It's wet enough to stick in the back so that it drags heavily across every inch as it's lifted off, leaving Cara's hair equal parts mussed and matted.

Dahlia reaches to help with the belt, but Cara shoves her away. Sex is the sort of thing you need a second set of hands for, but undressing _really_ is not, and she wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea about which one of them is co-dependant.

Not that it really matters when all their roommates are at least pretending to remain fast asleep. Hufflepuffs can be so considerate.

Still, it's the principle that has Cara wriggling loose from her trousers on her own, stumbling just the once, and pulling her night clothes from beneath the bed all in one sweeping motion. The cat, it seems, had chosen to make a bed of her shirt and was using one leg of the trousers for a pillow. As Cara finishes dressing, he watches her with mild reproach, tail flicking side-to-side. Perhaps he thinks that's threatening.

"Here, Felix."

The slow look the cat gives Dahlia is at least as disdainful and unamused as Cara's own. "Why do you do that?"

"Because one day I'll find a name he likes."

"He _has_ a name."

" _Cat_ isn't a name."

"It is, actually, and it's his." Cara perches on the end of the bed, one eyebrow lifted in challenge. "One he answers to, no less." To demonstrate, she pats her hand lightly on the bedspread beside her. "Cat. Come."

As spiteful and stubborn as his owner, Cat sidles up to the bed and claws the fabric of the sheets. He lingers close to where Cara is pointing, but he refuses to leap up before making a show of strutting stiff-legged in front of the bed. First it's one way, then the other, and finally he jumps up to receive the petting and affection he so clearly thinks he's owed.

Cara prefers not to acknowledge the obvious similarities. It's been a long hard day and she'd really rather just sleep.

* 

The Great Hall is always noisy and crowded, even outside the regularly scheduled morning owl deliveries. From the Gryffindor firsties and the clatter of plates, to Chase's barking laughter or the shouts of someone being jinxed, most students don't notice much beyond their direct vicinity.

Unless, of course, it's to do with the latest gossip. In that case, no amount of crowded tables or ducked heads can keep groups of unfamiliar faces from staring straight across the hall. It looks as though Denna has done her job well. 

This is what Cara wanted, isn't it?

But that doesn't prevent the reality from being an extreme annoyance. Cara does her best to avoid the looks to keep from glaring for too long at too many curious Ravenclaws. Dahlia has threatened on occasion that it's her duty as prefect to discourage Cara's unpleasant disposition by taking away house points.

Whether it's just an idle threat or not, Cara sees no reason to take the risk by increasing her own desire to hex perfect strangers. She focuses instead on her own plate of food, pulling and prodding the eggs until they turn to a runny mess. All that considered, it's no surprise really that Cara doesn't notice the owl that's winging her way until it's right above her. 

A letter drops directly onto her head, and Cara blinks, looking up.

It's Kahlan's owl, Whenever... or something like that.

Which means that the letter is from Cara's sister.

She turns the envelope over in her hands and eyes the writing on the front carefully. She tries to imagine its contents just from the state of Grace's slanted but precise print. Is she happy to hear from Cara, and will she be glad for further visits outside of the summer?

_"Dear Sister,"_ it says. Surely that can only be taken as a good sign?

But she won't read it yet, not here in the hall in front of everyone. Though they might all pretend to be fully absorbed in their own conversations, Cara knows that Dahlia could be watching her closely.

She almost always is anymore.

In fact-- "What's Amnell's owl doing here?"

Cara doesn't know whether to be annoyed or relieved. After a week spent with Kahlan Amnell being highly illogical and generally impossible, it's a small comfort that Dahlia remains so consistent.

And that being the case, it's already clear there's no point in coming up with a lie when Dahlia will just persist until she gets her way.

"She let me borrow it," Cara answers with a careless shrug. "Her."

Dahlia is still watching the bird closely, as though it's not to be trusted. "Really." It doesn't sound like a question half as much as an accusation, and Kahlan's owl isn't really helping matters with the way it nips at Cara's ear almost affectionately.

It would seem that Cara's going to have a lot more making up to do, so there's no point in groveling in the meantime if nothing's to be gained by it. "Come on," she says, taking hold of Dahlia's hand and deliberately avoiding looking at the owl. "I'm done eating."

It's Saturday, after all. Match day. Chase and the others have already left the table, and Dahlia herself is on her feet the mere moment that Cara makes the suggestion. She must have been waiting solely on Cara, which is as flattering as it is annoying.

When Dahlia isn't watching, Cara tosses the owl some of the toast left on her plate, and then tucks her hands away inside her robes to hide any trace evidence. At the rate the day is going, she wouldn't exactly put it past Dahlia to inspect for crumbs.

They carry on together like that, in amiable silence, before gradually slowing to a stop when they reach the crowd of other students who left the Hall before them. It isn't hard to find a loud and shoving mass of fellow students on the day of any Quidditch match, but this one is especially important.

The whole school is set to be there, cheering on the Hufflepuff team. No one wants to see Slytherin take the House Cup for yet another year, and a loss in Quidditch is the best chance at seeing that through. While it's unlikely that Hufflepuff will overtake either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor in points, Cara and her teammates will have played their own small part in taking down the house of the Head Girl. It's almost poetic.

But only if they win today.

The pressure might unnerve a lesser witch, but Cara finds it reassuring. Like Dahlia, Quidditch is something she understands.

Up in the sky, with a broom between her legs, everything is simpler. Fly high enough and the cheers of the crowd are hardly even a roar. They turn into something softer, more intimate, like the whisper of flesh against flesh. The wind whips her hair about her face and tugs at the collar of her uniform, pulling like greedy hands. The humming vibration from the tips of fingers all the way down her arm when her bat strikes the Bludger _just so_ is like the rhythm to a song.

She can already feel it buzzing inside her, building anticipation, and it takes all of Cara's resolve and advanced seventh year maturity to keep from kicking the group of third year Slytherins just ahead of them out of the way to clear a path on the stairs.

An outstanding achievement in restraint.

* 

Just as Cara anticipated, the stands are filled with yellow and black. Outside of the Slytherin section, nearly every other student waves a Hufflepuff flag or has donned the badger colors for the day.

But it's only _nearly_ everyone because right there at the gate stand a loud group of Gryffindors carrying a green and silver banner with a snake twisting and twirling across the rippling fabric.

It's no surprise really to find the banner is held at either end by Richard Cypher and _that other Amnell._ It also wouldn't surprise Cara in the slightest to discover that both are terrible at counting.

"Seeker," she calls as they draw closer, prompting Dahlia to roll her eyes. Obviously she'd hoped to ignore conversation all together before the match, but Cara can't resist such a prime opportunity.

One made especially irresistible with the way that Richard waves them over so enthusiastically, grinning from ear to ear. "Cara! Good luck today."

Cara nods her head in indication of the incredibly subtle banner that's almost twice the size of any one of them. "Doesn't look that way, Seeker." She smiles her thinnest and most unconvincing smile. "You do know that you're only in second for the House Cup, don't you? A loss for Slytherin would only be _good_ for Gryffindor."

But Richard shrugs, looking vaguely bemused and incredibly nonplussed. "Kahlan's playing today."

"Yes. Yes, I know." Sometimes talking with Richard Cypher can feel a bit like chasing your own broom twigs. "And she's going to _lose_ today. To Hufflepuff." Cara shrugs. "Even though you seem a mite ungrateful, you're welcome all the same."

Down at the other end of the banner, Dennee looks about ready to stick her tongue out at Cara or possibly even spit.

Cara really hopes that she would. She could do with something to target for beating practice just before the match, and bratty fifth year Gryffindors probably make the best targets for nearly any form of physical abuse. They have a resiliency that can only be born of stupidity.

" _Lovely_ seeing you both," Dahlia says, hooking her arm around Cara's and literally dragging to get her to budge.

Since becoming a prefect, Dahlia takes it upon herself to spoil most of Cara's fun.

*

If there's anyone at Hogwarts who might like quidditch more than Cara does, it's probably Chase. His ritual before every match consists of high-fiving everyone on the team at least twice and slamming his fist once against a locker. Then he and Cara take turns wrapping each other's wrists and palms in extra-durable charmed tape to keep their grips from slipping.

They test their handiwork by taking easy swats at each other with their Beater's bats. It's good practice for dodging Bludgers later, and a good release before the game begins.

Lined up in the tunnel moments later, shoulder to shoulder with her teammates, Cara works to carefully regulate the fluttering feeling in her stomach. It's there before every match, that burning impulse curling up in her legs that tells her to push off from the earth with all her might. To rise up, higher and higher, and never look back.

For now she bumps her shoulder into Chase and sways when he bumps back. Her fingers curl around the smooth, polished pine of her Beater's bat, well-formed welts sliding against the wood in all the usual places. Cara grins, baring her teeth, and fights the impulse to tug at Dahlia's braid dangling in front of her.

She waits.

*

The group of Gryffindors are still pressed to the front, even in the stands. The Slytherin banner makes a sharp, snapping sound as it whips in the breeze and Kahlan smiles to them, waving.

Cara isn't certain why it makes her feel like sneering, but she resists the urge.

But then. She sees it.

Perhaps the one thing more horrifying than the realization that Richard Cypher would consider regularly snogging Kahlan Amnell more important than both the Quidditch or House Cups is the dawning realization that Leo is the only one in the group of Gryffindors wearing yellow.

He offers a wave that Cara resolutely ignores. She lifts the nose of her broom just slightly so that her vision is angled directly up one of Madam Hooch's nostrils instead. Lovely.

A few inches higher -- just as high as regulation will allow, in fact -- and now she can almost pretend not to see or hear any of the crowd. Believe in it hard enough and they slowly do start to fade. The whistle blows, and they're off.

There is nothing else like this feeling.

The first Bludger that comes sailing her way, Cara dives, somersaults, and spins back again. With a heavy thwack, she slams it back the other way.

From this far away, Cara can't hear the grunt when the Bludger slams against Amnell's shoulder, causing her to sway briefly on her broom. She doesn't hear it, but is certain it's there.

This time, she doesn't fight the impulse to sneer.

*

The match has been going on for almost an hour and Hufflepuff is leading by just 10 points when it happens.

The Slytherin Bludger hits its mark with a heavy, throbbing sound of vibrating metal and shattering bone. Cara feels something inside her elbow crunch, then partially give way, and the scream that rips through the air is almost as sharp as the surging pain that jolts through her every nerve ending. _Merlin_ , it hurts. Nothing has ever hurt as much as this moment, she's sure, not ever. It's white hot and burning with pinpoints of light at the corner of her vision.

Down below she can see Professor Sprout and Madam Pomfrey waving for her to fly lower, to come down to be healed.

But Dahlia is lifting higher, going faster, and Cara is certain she must have seen the Snitch. The game is nearly in hand; she won't abandon them now.

So she simply shifts her Beater's bat from the right hand to the left. The fingers on her right hand are starting to grow numb, but she forces herself to wrap them around the broomstick all the same. Not much longer now. The pain won't last forever. She only needs to hold on.

Literally.

*

The roar of the cheering crowd is nothing compared to the sound Chase keeps making in Cara's ears. He lifts her up and squeezes, apparently _forgetting_ about the shattered bones somewhere in her arm until a quick yelp from Cara reminds him. It's a very undignified sound and she won't be repeating it, but she's glad enough to be back on the ground that she needn't say anymore about it.

Everyone else on the team is doing enough talking for all of them. Dahlia in particular won't stop fussing over Cara's injury, clucking again and dragging her in the direction of Madam Pomfrey's tent.

"I'm _fine_."

"You just let _Chase_ see you in _pain_."

It's a fair point, and one that Cara can't find anything to argue with. Now that the adrenaline has begun wearing off, she's already far less concerned with putting on a brave face and increasingly interested in mending whatever bones are broken in her body. The sooner the better.

Madam Pomfrey finishes with the healing spells in no time at all, but she still keeps Cara in her tent for an extra fifteen minutes spent lecturing on personal responsibility and seventh years who really ought to know better. "What if you'd lost your grip and _fallen_?"

But Cara only scoffs. "What, _none_ of you would have cast a spell to catch me? Some Professors you are."

For some reason neither Pomfrey nor Professor Sprout seem to find it very amusing. They even dock ten points from Hufflepuff as punishment, though it does little to diminish Cara's joy. Even the pain, which is quickly subsiding, is nothing in the face of a victory in Quidditch. And winning against Slytherin, reigning cup champions, makes the success all the sweeter.

If it weren't for that bitterly disappointed look on Kahlan's face as she walked off the pitch, the night would be perfect.

It's not sympathy that Cara feels exactly. Not _really_. She doesn't regret winning and would still do anything to do so -- including sending another dozen Bludgers sailing Kahlan's way -- but the way the other girl looks at her after is a memory she wouldn't mind doing without.

Somehow, despite her best efforts, it's Cara who still can't shake Kahlan after all, despite what the other girl might think.

*

Cara really can't say why she lingers in the locker room. It's a victory for Hufflepuff, and her teammates will be celebrating back up at the castle. There is certain to be butterbeer, enough chocolate frogs to choke a hippogriff, and Dahlia waiting curled up in her bed after.

And yet here she is, lingering in the showers with her palm pressed to the wall, counting down from six. That's how many days it's been since she and Kahlan kissed.

Five is the number of times Kahlan has spoken to her since. Four is how many classes they've shared in which Kahlan refuses to give Cara even a second glance.

Three is the number of times that the two of them kissed before parting on that night, and two is how many times Cara kissed Leo in front of one very red Slytherin Head Girl a few days after.

It shouldn't matter anymore. Cara _knows_ that it shouldn't.

The Slytherin locker room is all the way on the other side of the pitch and besides that Kahlan is likely to spend the rest of the night commiserating with her house and team.

Not that there's anything else Cara ought to _expect_ her to be doing. She's made her total lack of any interest beyond the mere _curiosity_ from the week before rather clear. Probably she's taking comfort behind a tree somewhere with Richard.

He's welcome to it.

Zero is precisely how many fucks Cara gives.

*

Cara's broom twigs are in minor disarray due to the slightly haphazard nature of her landing once they'd won, so she takes the time now to carefully groom and inspect them before leaving. She brushes and trims the twigs back into place and finishes it off with a quick polish to the handle. If you don't care for the equipment in a timely fashion, you might end up with blood stains lodged into the grain or a strange wiggle to your turns.

It could be said, in fact, that Cara is probably more mindful of the condition of her broom than she is of her own body. Bruises and breaks can be charmed away more effectively than a dent which changes the entire drag or thrust of a broomstick.

By the time she finishes her repairs, at least an hour has passed since game's end. So when Cara comes out of the Hufflepuff locker room, damp hair sticking to her throat and broom slung against her shoulder, she's shocked to see Kahlan Amnell still here.

So shocked, in fact, that she comes to a complete standstill, only staring. Even her mouth is hanging open slightly, eyebrows dipping down in a confused frown. "… you."

"Yes. And you."

Kahlan's eyes are still tight, as if wounded or upset, and Cara wonders for a moment if she's really walked all this way and waited all this time just to tell Cara off for _playing well_. "Look, Kahlan--"

"You're a fucking idiot. You know that, right?"

This time, Cara's mouth _snaps_ shut and her eyebrows drift up higher. She's never actually heard the Head Girl swear before. Obviously it's something she's likely to do, being a teenager and all, but Cara had imagined it was the sort of thing a member of the Slytherin social elite did only in the most intimate and trusted of company. Kahlan Amnell has got a Hogwarts-Professor-approved image to uphold, after all.

"You _do know_ , don't you?"

Cara blinks. "What…?"

"The _Bludger_ , Cara."

Oh. Oh, _that_.

"Oh," Cara scoffs, smirking lightly; "That."

"Yes, that time tonight when you could have _died_ from falling off your broom."

"But I didn't," Cara interjects immediately. "And we won. Well--" She pauses here, realization starting to dawn just as the smirk slowly shifts into something a little sharper. " _I_ did." The look Cara gives her can't really be called one of feigned sympathy, because that would require an effort to be convincing. This is really more of a sneer combined with a carefully positioned head tilt that might normally imply empathy instead of enjoyment.

But that certainly isn't the case tonight.

"I suppose your team lost then. That must be awful, Kahlan." Cara takes a stride forward -- because striding is the natural gait that your body simply falls into when you have a broom resting its weight on one shoulder -- and she cocks her head the other way. "Did you come here to find out what it feels like to win?" And now she's hit it, the punchline, and Cara's whole face breaks into a grin. "Were you _curious_?" 

The way Kahlan's cheeks flush is satisfying in a way that's almost instinctive. 

Cara feels it in her gut, twisting inside just in time with the twist of her smirk. "Yes," she says. "I think so." A few more short strides and Cara is nearly past her when Kahlan snatches hold again. It's that same damn elbow that Kahlan grabbed before.

But tonight it's also the one that's been so recently healed and Cara hisses softly until Kahlan recoils, genuinely seeming flustered, "Oh! Sorry. I didn't mean to--" Kahlan takes a quick, jerking breath and when she licks her lips her mouth stays hanging open after.

Cara is infuriated with herself for noticing.

"This really isn't going as planned."

"So," Cara says, regulating her expression back into something slightly more neutral than her earlier sneer. "Now you have a plan?"

"I have… well, it's a start of one."

"And?"

"Step one is that I'm sorry," Kahlan says in a voice that's suddenly so soft and so earnest that it makes even Cara feel exposed. She shifts her broom to the other shoulder just to have it crossing her body and very much in between her and Kahlan. 

"And I probably deserved that," Kahlan continues; "What you said about… curiosity."

"You did." Cara runs her fingers down the shaft of the broom, just to keep them occupied. She's _busy_ , Kahlan. She has butterbeer to drink and a far less complicated Hufflepuff to kiss.

She simply hasn't got the _time_ for things like Kahlan's smile being small, gentle, and really almost _nervous_ in a way that makes Cara feel a little like saying that she's sorry too when she doesn't even have a reason to be.

So instead she just says, "And step two?"

Suddenly Kahlan's hand is on her again, but it's at the space just _below_ the elbow, grazing up her side. It's startling, especially in contrast to the nearly shy expression that Kahlan's face is wearing when she whispers, "Well… this."

It can't be called sudden, the way that they're now kissing, because Kahlan is so cautious and gradual when she eases her body in closer to Cara's and presses their mouths together. It can't be called abrupt or particularly rushed or anything really other than _right_. 

It really does feel right.

Without thinking, Cara releases the broom to take hold of Kahlan's shoulders instead, but then winces when it clangs against the floor. "Oh-- shit!" She breaks away and looks down before glancing along the length of the empty hall. "We should…"

"In there?" Kahlan nods her head in indication of the locker room door.

There will be steam still hanging in the air from Cara's shower most likely, and discarded clothing on the floor. The implication feels far _larger_ than is probably intended by a quick solution offered up in the moment. It almost gives Cara pause.

But only almost.

"Come on." She takes Kahlan by the hand and leads her very carefully _around_ the broom on the floor. Her thumb finds a spot at the center of Kahlan's palm and strokes it, over and over, and smiles to hear the sound of the other girl's breathing hitch for a moment.

Kissing Kahlan is so unlike the kisses that Cara has shared with Dahlia. Her mouth has a way of shifting and changing, first subtle and soft but then firm and resolved. She sucks in air in deep breaths but somehow her mouth doesn't _leave_ \-- because maybe what she's truly desperate for, maybe even more than oxygen, is Cara. The thought is absurd.

Kissing Kahlan makes Cara _absurd_ , and she's not entirely sure she minds. The feeling is so good, so sweet, that it almost seems worth a little idiocy. Where Dahlia makes way, Kahlan redoubles, and where Dahlia's hands are small and shifting, Kahlan is strong and forceful in a way that's almost unexpected.

Kahlan shoves Cara once, and she stumbles back into the lockers. The wood pinches sharply against her spine and she wonders briefly if there might be a bruise. She's not certain that she would mind.

"You--" Kahlan gasps in between suddenly sharp and forceful kisses. Her hands tug at Cara, grabbing seemingly anywhere that _isn't_ an elbow; "-- are still--" Her tongue inside Cara's mouth and then briefly out again across her lips. They rock against the lockers again and Cara's damp hair sticks along her jaw as she pants close to Kahlan's vibrating throat, which is saying, "-- a fucking idiot."

Cara starts to laugh, but then the sound cuts off abruptly in a stifled choke. 

Kahlan's long firm fingers are wrapped tight across Cara's throat. Her thumb finds a space at the underside of Cara's jaw and fits against it exactly, gently stroking. It's as if she were built to be held roughly in this way by the Head Girl whose warm wet mouth is lingering at her ear. "Don't _ever_ do that again. Do you understand?"

Cara's heart is beating heavy in her chest and her eyes shift out of focus, caught up in her own panting. When she starts to nod, a slight and subtle movement, the sensation against her throat sends shivers up her spine.

"Very good," the Slytherin hisses close to her ear. Even once she lets go, her thumb remains at Cara's throat, stroking over the frantic flutter of her pulse. "Do you feel that?" Kahlan laughs, playfulness creeping back into her voice. "That's what you did to my heart. It was beating like that for you." The thumb is still there, stroking slowly over soft skin, and Kahlan's voice is softer too when she says again, "Don't do that again, Cara."

Cara hasn't a clue why Kahlan Amnell has come to her suddenly, sharing these _feelings_ and watching her with those deep, blue eyes. It's overwhelming and almost frightening, all the more so because of how arousing Cara finds it.

Though she thinks that last bit is perhaps better kept to herself.

In all truth, Kahlan's actions aren't having the desired effect at all. All Cara can understand from this is that when she does something that the Head Girl deems foolish, she may well be rewarded with manhandling and kisses.

When viewed in that light, so-called good behavior seems incredibly overrated.

After another shove, Cara chooses to respond in turn, looping fingers through Kahlan's hair and twisting it up in her grasp before guiding their mouths together in another bruising kiss. She breaks away only long enough to nibble and suck at Kahlan's lower lip until it's swollen and red, hanging partially open once more.

The look on Kahlan's face is beyond words and Cara wishes that she had a camera so that she might preserve the moment forever: the tongue creeping out to lick across Kahlan's lips as they form and shift in such a way that her thick panting is almost visible in the air. The quick flutter of her pulse in her throat. The way her lidded gaze is heavy with undisguised lust, blinking up at Cara through her lashes. Cara would like to be able to stare into those eyes forever.

The way Kahlan is looking at her now makes Cara forget the butterbeer back at the dorm and Dahlia most likely waiting naked in her bed. 

That look nearly makes her forget the sweet feeling of victory and the bitter feeling of loss from six days ago -- but just nearly.

"Amnell, if I didn't _know_ better," she says in soft and honeyed voice, round soft vowels dripping from her tongue as it edges its way around the curve of Kahlan's ear. "I'd think Richard wasn't keeping you satisfied."

"Oh," Kahlan groans, a low and throaty sound that builds in her heaving chest. And again, " _Ohh_ ," but this time with more purpose and panic.

As it turns out, that was precisely the wrong thing to say.

"Oh, Richard."

"What?" Cara blinks, perhaps a little dazed herself. "No, I'm--"

"Cara, yes." Kahlan straightens, slipping loose from Cara's grip with one solid and sure step back. "… yes, but I really must go."

It takes Kahlan only moments to compose herself again, arranging her robes carefully and running fingers through her hair until it's somewhat back in place.

When she smiles, radiant and calm, it's as if nothing has happened here at all.

Cara can't help but be impressed, and she's certain it shows on her face. She should almost hate that about Kahlan -- the way that Cara can't quite hide herself around her. "Well." And maybe she does. "Good night, Amnell."

For Kahlan's own part, she blushes, but only slightly, saying, "Good night, Cara." She departs with a delicate swish of robes and is gone. 

When Cara peaks out into the hall, her own discarded broomstick is the only sign that either had been here tonight.

Twisted and newly damaged twigs and all.


End file.
